


Heritage

by Kate_Mock



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:14:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25005253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Mock/pseuds/Kate_Mock
Summary: Orphaned Quinn is taken from his home to live with his mysterious godmother. Will he survive her machinations and discover a future he truly wants? (Original Work)
Kudos: 1





	Heritage

Chapter 1  
Stupid rain. Why was it always raining here? Or maybe that was just how I saw the world now. I certainly hadn’t felt all sunshine and rainbows since I got the news.  
All his routines, all his precautions and Father died. Not from anything he was afraid of, just bad food which poisoned him. Since he was the only one affected at that dinner party I’d suspect poison but post mortem testing didn’t show anything revealing.  
So with nothing else but the vague certainty in my heart, Father was buried next to Mother at the family plot and I was all alone.  
Being seventeen and an orphan wasn’t too bad. Several people started out on their own at a younger age than mine. But none of them were expected to maintain the social status that my family held or the kind of inheritance I now possessed.  
Because of my youth the family solicitor, Mr. Hardern, thought it best I be placed under someone’s care until I turned twenty-one. The real problem was finding someone appropriate to look after me. I would have preferred Mr. Hardern but he was a confirmed bachelor and his rooms were not conducive to accommodating another individual beyond a few days visit. So while the hunt was on to find someone worthy enough to be my guardian, I was put into a good hotel not too far from Mr. Hardern’s office. I wasn’t trusted enough to fend for myself at the townhouse. I couldn’t do a lot of socializing there; but then I wasn’t really expecting to, being in mourning for Father and all.  
As confined and restricted my life was I was grateful for one thing. Now I could devote all my waking hours to my studies. Mrs. Oliver, the old housekeeper and my unofficial surrogate mother, always harrumphed at how long I could and would stay at my desk, perusing some old text Father managed to acquire. She always encouraged me to get out and meet new people, make friends and take a more active interest in the entertainments life had to offer.  
In all honesty, none of it appealed to me. I shared Father’s love of old books and the obscure knowledge they contained. I didn’t share the paranoia that consumed him for the past five years but I had no objection to being a hermit for the rest of my life. Yet I couldn’t convince any of the adults currently in my life that this was what I genuinely wanted. Father being the sole exception only because he stopped taking an active interest in my welfare when I was fourteen.  
With the rain coming down hard enough to gray the view outside my window, no one argued with my plans to curl up with a good book and hot tea. And it was while I was enjoying this repast when there was a knock upon my door. I wasn’t expecting anyone so I didn’t immediately answer it. When the interruption persisted I sighed and put my book to one side.  
By the fifth knock I extracted myself from the blankets I huddled in and was at the door. I was honestly surprised to find on the other side Mr. Hardern and a veiled woman dressed completely in gray.  
“Mr. Hardern…”  
“Quinn, let us in, my good boy. There are things we need to discuss.” His manner was very abrupt, different from the previous times we’d met. It was obvious impatience was brewing in both of them so I stepped to one side and they entered.  
Mr. Hardern removed his hat and coat but the mysterious lady stay veiled. Her choice.  
Taking back my seat I apologized for not having any refreshments to offer them. As I hadn’t been expecting any visitors there was only one small pot of tea made before dismissing the servant provided by the hotel for the afternoon.  
“No servants? That is very odd, young man,” said the Gray Lady.  
I shrugged. My needs were currently few and enough people were fussing over me to begin with. I didn’t say any of this; it wasn’t any concern of hers. But I was curious why she and my solicitor were here today.  
“What brings you here today, Mr. Hardern. I wasn’t aware we had an appointment.”  
“You’re correct, we don’t. However something came up which I felt needed to be addressed as soon as possible.”  
I leaned forward with elbows on my knees and chin cupped in my hands. “What’s happened?”  
“Some good news finally,” he said with a grunt as he took the chair opposite me. Gray Lady settled herself on the settee perpendicular to both of us.  
“Oh?”  
“Quinn, I am happy to present to you your godmother, Ms. Peahen of Quagmin, Massachusetts.”  
She smiled and inclined her head politely, “A pleasure to meet you, Quinn. I never knew how much you resembled your father; I’d swear you’re the spitting image of him.”  
Needless to say, I was shocked and stumped. “Thank you, Ms. Peahen. I…I didn’t realize I had a godmother. Father never mentioned a godmother to me before.”  
“Your father and I lost contact with each other after your mother died,” she explained. “She’d been a dear, dear friend of mine since childhood. After I heard about your father’s untimely death, I knew my duty was to come here and see to your welfare.”  
It was hard to tell but I think her smile grew wider. I really couldn’t see her face underneath the veil. All I could see were a pair of bright spots where the eyes should be.  
Her excuse for not contacting me all these years seemed plausible. I was too young when Mother died to remember her properly but I came to understand that Father was a very different man when she was still alive.  
“Massachusetts.” I let the word roll around on my tongue before asking, “That’s in the United States of America, isn’t it?”  
Ms. Peahen nodded. “I’m well aware moving there will be very difficult for you but I think a complete change of scenery is exactly what you need.”  
“Wait. Who said anything about me moving! England is my home.”  
“England may be the homeland of your father but your mother came from America and so do I.”  
“Why can’t you stay here in England then?” I knew I sounded like a small child throwing a tantrum, but my mind was reeling from the sudden shock. I didn’t want to leave England for anywhere else.  
Ms. Peahen sighed and shook her head, “Quinn, I have too many responsibilities and interests in America to simply abandon them, not even for my beloved godson.” She cocked her head in an annoying know-it-all manner. “And I was given to understand there isn’t much keeping you in England either.”  
I clenched my jaw but stayed silent. Blast it, she was right. The only possible thing that could keep me here were my father’s businesses and stocks. All of those were in the capable hands of Mr. Hardern and a few bankers. No need for me to be on hand, at least not until I was twenty-one. All my lessons were done through tutors and occasionally Father holing us up in the study for an afternoon. And I hadn’t enrolled at Cambridge or Eton for further academic advancement. In all honesty I hadn’t given much thought to my future, moving to America wouldn’t disrupt any long-term planning in the works.  
I really didn’t relish moving, let alone immigrating to America for four years. But judging by the expressions of Mr. Hardern and Ms. Peahen, I really didn’t have much of a choice. Sighing I leaned back and rubbed the palms of my hands against my thighs. “All right, what do we do next?”  
  
Chapter 2  
Again I think my new guardian smiled as Mr. Hardern went over the details. I would still be staying at the hotel until it was time for me to depart. Ms. Peahen would handle the arrangements. All I would have to do was determine what was accompanying me on the journey and what would be sent on ahead of me and would be waiting for me at Ms. Peahen’s estate.  
In the end I sent most of Father’s books ahead of me, keeping only the most valuable tomes with me to go into my personal trunk. Mrs. Oliver wept silently as she helped me pack. I think this was her way of saying good-bye to me, I hoped Mr. Hardern remembered to make sure she was provided for. Despite all the domestic grief we gave her over the years, Father and I never doubted her loyalty or professionalism. She’d been good to us. I didn’t want her to be destitute now that Father was dead and I was leaving.  
It wasn’t raining on the day we boarded the ship for the United States, just foggy to the point where I was surprised we still launched off on the tide.  
The trip over the Atlantic was uneventful enough. I ventured out of my cabin as little as possible, all that open water unsettled me. It wasn’t all seasickness, my nausea left morning of the third day; it was something else I couldn’t quite define.  
I hoped this new place I was going to be living in was a good ways inland. I was never comfortable being near a lot of open water.  
Ms. Peahen didn’t bother me after the second day. She seemed to realize I wanted some privacy during the journey. That or she didn’t want to put up with me while I was finding my sea legs and emptying my stomach over the railing. A lone crewman stayed nearby to make no worse fate befell me.  
  
Chapter 3  
I cursed when I finally came up on deck when we reached port. Too much time spent inside on little food didn’t go well for me, my head was pounding and the bright, clear mid-morning made the hammering only worse. Ms. Peahen took my arm and guided me to a waiting driver. The guy actually bowed to us as we approached. I thought Americans got rid of that kind of behavior and mannerisms when they broke away to form their own country. We boarded one of those new-fangled vehicles and a larger one followed us with all of our luggage stowed in the back.  
The vehicle was loud and jolted my bones each time it came across an imperfection in the road. My only consolation was that Ms. Peahen was as uncomfortable as I was. Enough ambient light came through the windows and pierced the veil so I could see the grim, thin line that was her mouth clenched along with mine with each jolting bounce. I could barely make out a few features now; everything was sharp angles. There was not even a hint of softness. Her posture was as straight as mine was loose, I doubt either of us were very comfortable either way.  
I wasn’t too disappointed or heartbroken; I hadn’t been expecting Ms. Peahen to be a motherly figure to me. Mrs. Oliver already held that spot in my heart.  
It was a long drive to wherever Ms. Peahen lived. The driver took us through the town and out into the country, staying close to the coast. I frowned at how endless the ocean was, especially where it met the sky. There wasn’t much else to look at so I just closed my eyes and actually feel asleep for a while.  
I slept for a good, long while too. When I opened my eyes the light was considerably darker. Or that might have been all the shadows caused by the overlapping tree branches above us. The coast line had been left far behind. But it did feel a great deal later in the day than when we started out. I sat up straighter and took a look around. We were passing through a long archway of trees. The branches intertwined over our heads, forming a roof. Between the tree trunks I could see fences surrounding fields speckled with sprouting crops. Farming country, simultaneously quaint and calming. I might actually enjoy being here.  
That idea stayed with me as we finally approached the house. The structure was a mixture of brick and wood, if the winters here were as bad as the winters in London, I didn’t find it an odd idea. The multiple chimney stacks back my initial suspicion regarding the seasonal clime in this part of the country. I wouldn’t call it quaint but it did look comfortable and impressive. A low whistle escaped my lips when we finally got out of the car. I couldn’t see Ms. Peahen’s reaction but the driver smirked proudly and stood a little straighter. Although that last may have come from the relief I’m sure all three of us felt at being able to stretch cramped muscles.  
“Well, Quinn, welcome home. Now let’s go inside before the night catches up with us.” Ms. Peahen and I met at the front steps and walked in together. The foyer pulled off the paradox of feeling open and airy yet cramped at the same time. I was impressed.  
We were also met by four individuals, possibly and most likely, the household staff if their clothing was any indication.  
“Quinn, let me introduce you to our servants. This is the housekeeper, Mrs. Thompson.” A stern woman with red hair going gray inclined her head, definitely someone who took her job and position seriously. I doubted she’d put up with the kind of shenanigans I pulled with Mrs. Oliver. I took mental note of that.  
“This is Abigail the maid.” She curtsied a lot lower than necessary, all the better to show off what nature had given her and she knew it with a coy little smirk meant for me.  
“The footman, Cayn.” His bow was perfunctory if a little stiff, something obviously didn’t sit well for him.  
“The cook, Ms. Bell.” Father once said never trust a skinny cook, something he heard somewhere. In which case I certainly wasn’t going to trust this one.  
“And you’ve already met Mr. Kramer.” Said gentleman came from behind me to join the others, tipping his hat to me as he did so. I think I’m going to like him. “He’s our chauffeur and helps with some of the more labor intensive chores around here.”  
Ms. Peahen’s eyes narrowed as she realized something. “Where’s Bertrand? My telegram gave the exact date of our arrival and specific instructions relating to it.”  
“Our apologies, mistress,” said Mrs. Thompson. “His legs are giving him trouble again and have confined him to his bed.” I was surprised by the level of genuine concern in her voice.  
I was also surprised when my guardian actually thawed a little and murmured something under her breath I couldn’t quite catch. She then shrugged and told me that it wasn’t necessary for me to meet Bertrand, the gardener, unless I truly wished to. In which case I would have to wait until another day to do so.  
“When his legs pain him, he is far from his best behavior,” she explained. “I know he’d loathe making such a terrible first impression on a new member of the household.  
I physically stood still but mentally I shrugged. It wasn’t important to me that I knew who all the servants where so long as they did their job. This kind of lineup was something the nobility did in whenever the master of the house returned home from some kind of long journey. I certainly wasn’t in charge here!  
Abigail escorted me up to the room prepared for me. She also let me know through her tone but not her words that she wouldn’t mind warming my bed for me. I responded rather bluntly that a warming pan would be more than adequate for me. The maid left me alone with a confused look on her face and I proceeded to unpack.  
The packages I had sent ahead apparently hadn’t gotten here yet so my wardrobe was limited to what I brought in my trunk. I hoped Ms. Peahen wasn’t the type to insist I change clothes for dinner; I could never understand the need for it. I shelved the tomes I’d brought with me amongst the books already on the shelves for my pleasure. I had to remove a few of those to make room for mine. Having nowhere else to stow them until I could take them to the house’s library, they went in my trunk.  
  
Chapter 4  
Although dinner was a private affair with just two of us present, it was still a three course affair; I hoped this wasn’t typical, there was no way I could eat this much every night and not get sick. Ms. Peahen did raise her eyebrows when I came down to eat in the same clothes I travelled in but could only nod after I explained that the rest of my belongings hadn’t arrived before us like I hoped.  
“I’ll send Kramer back to town in the morning and have him check with the port master about those packages,” she said. “They couldn’t have gotten that lost.”  
During the actual meal itself, we didn’t say that much to each other. Ms. Peahen kept a running monologue of our neighbors and what kind of social life I would be having while I was here. I thought about protesting but I had never seen her so enthusiastic I didn’t have the heart to attempt to douse it. Just like all the other adults in my life, she wouldn’t be content to leave me to my own devices and pursuits.  
Rather I got the impression that once those packages arrived, I would suffer a whirlwind of social engagements and introductions to my local peers for the next four years.  
As much as the loss of my father’s books would hurt me, I hoped the packages would stay lost.  
It turned out that my hope was only half fulfilled. My packages from England were well and truly lost somehow but that only inspired Ms. Peahen to take me to town and have a whole wardrobe tailored for me. At the end of the ordeal I had a great deal of sympathy for every debutante embarking on her first season. I don’t think I got as a good a poking, prodding, and scrutiny from any medical visit as I did from that team of tailors.  
Once Ms. Peahen was satisfied that I would make a good first impression on society she proceeded to make the introductions. The next two weeks were a maelstrom of dinner, dances, and card games hosted by her neighbors and a few prominent townsfolk. Fortunately there were enough people at these events that I was able to fade to the background with little effort. Ms. Peahen couldn’t understand that I prefer to be alone.  
There was one where I did draw attention to myself but I didn’t have much choice in the matter. It was at a dinner with one of Ms. Peahen’s town friends. I was meeting too many new people to remember all of their names.  
Anyway we were all at the table and the soup was being served. This wasn’t any kid of soup I was familiar with and made comment to that effect. Our hostess for the evening preened.  
“Oh I doubt you’d find a soup like this back in England, Mr. Wellings,” she said. “This is clam chowder, praised throughout the region for its flavor.”  
My chair landed on the floor with a crash as I continued backing away from the table.  
“Mr. Wellings?”  
“Quinn! Sit down, this is embarrassing.”  
“Clam…” I muttered.  
“What?” exclaimed my indignant guardian. “Speak up.”  
“I can’t have clams,” I explained. “I’m allergic to seafood, like my father.”  
“Are…are you quite sure of this, Quinn?” There was an overcurious tone to her voice.  
I nodded and loosened my collar, revealing the faint scar at the base of my throat. “They had to do an emergency medical procedure on me after tasting some shrimp. I almost died, my father is…was the same way.” My shoulders hunched in memory. I was ten years old when it happened, my first time trying some of the food the adults enjoyed. When my throat seized that childish joy plummeted straight to fear. After my life was saved I remember gasping on the table through a crude tube and Father standing my side, holding my hand and apologizing tearfully to me for passing the allergy on to me. Like he or I had much say in the matter.  
Ms. Peahen and the hostess exchanged glances I couldn’t read but had to have some significance. After an awkward moment the hostess clapped her hands and ordered my setting cleared, she went on to apologize and explain the menu for tonight revolved around showcasing the local seafood. I could sit at the table, drink water and have some bread but that would be it.  
I nodded and sat down again, also I apologized for not alerting her or Ms. Peahen ahead of time about my allergy. “It’s just seafood isn’t as prevalent in England as it is in the United States,” was my only excuse, feeble as it was.  
We didn’t linger after dinner as Ms. Peahen normally did for some minor dancing or card games. Instead she bustled me into the car and heading back to the house as soon as the dessert plates were clear. She made no comment about my behavior at dinner but the glares she gave me said enough.  
Back at the house I was allowed to retreat to my rom quietly, hunger still gnawing at my stomach. I could feel the sugar from dessert racing through my veins; I hadn’t been able to eat anything else. I would have snuck down to the kitchen if I thought I could get away with it. But the looks exchanged between my guardian and the housekeeper as I ascended the stairs put me off trying.  
I wanted to sleep but my stomach demanded to be sated first. Yet I had nothing to fill it with. A soft rapping at my door roused me out of myself. Pity and curiosity got me to open the door. Standing in the hallway was Cayn; he was holding something covered with a cloth close to his chest.  
“Begging your pardon, sir,” he whispered. “But I overheard about what happened at the dinner with the Rosegold’s tonight. And I think it was awful how you were treated, sir.” He stepped closer to me and shoved the bundle into my unresisting hands. “A little something I put together for you to get through the night, sir. Just hide the leavings in the waste basket; I’ll take care of them when I clean your room in the morning.”  
“Th-thank you, Cayn.”  
He smiled then hurried down the hall. I don’t think Ms. Peahen would have approved of what he just did for me. I smiled and locked the door when I closed it. Inside the bundle was a small bottle of ginger beer, some fresh fruit, bread and cold chicken, plenty to satisfy my stomach.  
  
Chapter 5  
Whatever transgressions I may have committed that night seemed to have been forgiven because when I went down for breakfast the next morning, MS. Peahen was all smiles again and almost falling over herself trying to apologize. I finally got her to stop when I also apologized for not mentioning it sooner myself.  
We laughed and jumped in our seats at the low, long boom that rattled throughout the house.  
“What was that?” I asked looking out the window at the clear sky outside. “It sounded like thunder but it doesn’t look like it’s storming out.”  
Ms. Peahen giggled like the young girl she must have been at one point. “Oh my, I must apologize again, Quinn, but for a different reason. I should have mentioned this myself. But I’ve lived here for so long I’ve gotten used to it.  
“Used to what exactly?”  
“Piracy and smuggling were secret but respected occupations here a hundred years ago. They used the tunnels and caves for miles all along the coast for their nefarious purposes. This house was built above a confluence of such tunnels. Unlike some though, these tunnels were poorly made and several collapsed into a larger cave deep in the cliffs. On occasion, if the tides are right, water fills the cavity in a large rush that causes that boom you just heard.”  
I nodded slowly and settled back in my chair. It seemed a reasonable if outlandish explanation behind what I heard. But I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was anything natural. Since I had nothing else to suggest as a possible source or cause of that sound, I stayed silent and pretended to accept my guardian’s story. My appetite was diminished that morning; for some reason my mind made the connection that the sound I heard resembled hunger pains from some enormous entity.  
“Should…should we be concerned about any of the collapsed tunnels affecting the house?”  
She shook her head, “What tunnels remain to this day were reinforced to prevent such a tragedy, my dear Quinn. We’re perfectly safe.” Again I had no evidence to contradict her so I said nothing.

+

Things finally slowed down socially at least. The season was nearing its end and apparently social engagements and obligations for visits faded as the weather got colder. Considering how far out of town we were, I wasn’t surprised and very glad for some time to myself.  
There were many days where I spent my in-between meal hours closeted in library wrapped up in a blanket with a good book. Cayn snuck me tea and food that wouldn’t leave smears or crumbs on the pages.  
Ms. Peahen spent those same hours locked in her study. Presumably she was seeing to those interests and responsibilities that kept her confined to the United States. I wasn’t interested enough to inquire further and she wasn’t invested in me enough to share.  
We pretty much kept to ourselves; both of us were functional loners apparently. I was surprised by that shared trait.

  
Chapter 6  
One night I knew something woke me up but I wasn’t sure what it was. Another storm raged outside but the thick shutters blocked out most of the lightning’s bursts. When I sat up in bed I realized someone else was in the room with me.  
“Hello?”  
There was a giggle and then I felt weight come down on the foot of the bed. “Is that all you have to say? Hello? Not very original.”  
“What are you doing here, Abigail?”  
“I got tired waiting for you to come to me so I decided to come to you.” She was slowly crawling up the bed, her hands alternating caressing my legs through the quilt.  
It wasn’t as effective as she hoped it might; I’d piled on some thick blankets. I like to be very warm when I was under the covers. Right now I squirmed and jerked my legs away from her touch.  
“Stop it, Abigail. Get out,” I said.  
“Why? We could have a lot of fun together.”  
“I don’t want the kind of ‘fun’ you’re offering.”  
Her voice turned mean as she proceeded to insult and insinuate certain things regarding my manhood. I didn’t respond, it certainly was of no consequence to her. If she harbored one of those fantasies of bedding some young lord and rising to be either his mistress or his wife, that was no fault of mine.  
When I realized she was determined to have her way with me regardless of what I wanted I kicked out, catching her on the thigh. She grunted in surprise and I grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her off the bed.  
“What…”  
“Get out now or I’ll rouse the entire household,” I said with one hand wrapped on the bell pull. I hoped she focused on that and not the tremor of fear edging my voice.  
The maid was silent for a moment before I heard the soft rustle of gathered clothing and my door opened then closed. I got up long enough to make sure the door was locked then I curled up under the covers shivering despite the collected body heat.  
Emotionally I didn’t want to contemplate what almost happened. Intellectually there was a very real chance she’d try again at some later point. The look in her eyes when we were first introduced was enough to convince me that Abigail wasn’t going to give up very easily.  
  
Chapter 7  
The next morning the first thing I did after dressing was to seek out the housekeeper. I wasn’t sure how Ms. Peahen would react to my tale so I decided not to bother her with it. Also I didn’t want to lean on my guardian for help with all my problems; in four years I was going to have to handle this kind of thing on my own. I might as well get used to it. Unfortunately I found Mrs. Thompson in conference with Ms. Peahen, discussing menus for next week.  
Damn, I wasn’t sure how I could get them separated to talk to Mrs. Thompson alone.  
“Quinn, are you all right? You don’t look like you slept too well,” Ms. Peahen said. She caught me staring in the doorway and so she stared at me in return.  
I sighed and sat down neat them. “I was hoping to talk to Mrs. Thompson about a…a problem I had last night in private.”  
“A problem, sir?”  
Dammit again, she wasn’t making any move to suggest we go somewhere private. I would have to tell both of them.  
“It’s in regards to Abigail.”  
Mrs. Thompson stiffened. “How has her work been unsatisfactory?”  
I replied, “As far as I know her duties to be, that’s been fine. But in regards to her activities when she’s not working is what concerns me.”  
“How so?”  
Taking a deep breath I told them everything. I made it clear that I had not encouraged her inappropriate behavior nor did I want it. They stayed quiet throughout my telling but I wasn’t comforted by their hardened expressions settling on their faces. We all were quiet when I was done.  
I tensed up for whatever diatribe they were going to throw at me.  
“You’re telling us the truth, Quinn?” Ms. Peahen asked.  
I nodded, “Yes, ma’am.”  
Mrs. Thompson stood up so fast it knocked the heavy table into me, knocking the air out.  
“Thank you for informing me about this matter, Master Quinn,” she said as I worked to get my breath back to normal. “I assure you there will be no repeat of this disgusting behavior.” She nodded briskly at me; I slowly, mutely nodded back. Then she stormed out of the room, presumably to find the maid.  
“Here, Quinn, drink this. It should help,” Ms. Peahen said soothingly to me as she set a cup of tea in front of me. She caught my shocked face and raised an eyebrow. “What?”  
“You’re…you’re not mad at me?”  
“If you’re telling the truth why should we?” She sat down again and straightened the papers in front of her. “This is your home, Quinn. You should feel safe here. You shouldn’t be afraid of being assaulted by one of the staff. Don’t worry, Mrs. Thompson will deal with Abigail. You were right to tell us.”  
The confusion left me and relief washed over me in its place. It looked like they weren’t going to blame me for any of this. Ms. Peahen steered the conversation towards other topics and I went along with this after grabbing a quick plate of breakfast, the relief awakened my appetite.  
It as a few weeks later that I found out Abigail had been dismissed shortly after I told Ms. Peahen and Mrs. Thompson what happened. Days after that happened, her replacement arrived at the house. The new maid kept to herself and on the first floor. Apparently the housekeeper put the fear of God into her to behave. 

  
Chapter 8  
The storms looked to be easing for a while so we were starting the rounds of the socials events again before the snow came.  
I noticed Ms. Peahen was more careful about which events we attended, and I think part of that was the conscious effort to avoid triggering my allergy. I was grateful for the lighter schedule; I was still adjusting to living in the United States.  
Still, meeting all these strangers for the first time and trying to remember all these names, I could never manage it. And after a while they all just blurred together to me. Fortunately everyone seemed to know everyone else so I was saved from trying to remember who I was talking to.  
Ms. Peahen even hosted a few times, nothing major; we’re too far out of town in the minds of some people. Just a few dinners and evenings full of card games. Neither of these taxed my very limited facial recognition abilities.  
What unnerved me were all the young ladies I seemed to be attracting the attention of. There were always two or three at every event Ms. Peahen took me to; it didn’t take me long to realize she was in cahoots with several of the mothers a few of the fathers to pair me up with one of them.  
I remained polite but inwardly groaned. I was only seventeen, I had years before people would look askance at me for not marrying if ever. High society treated unmarried men better than unmarried women. Yet I could sense a level of urgency for me to choose. I couldn’t understand it.  
Whenever I tried to confront Ms. Peahen about her not so subtle matchmaking on my behalf she’d find another ‘more urgent’ topic to discuss with me. This would persist regardless of how I tried my best to steer the conversation back to where I wanted it. It was aggravating.  
“She’s only thinking of what’s best for you, sir,” Cayn replied one evening after hearing me complain.  
Throughout all of this, I was glad that Cayn was still at the house. He was the one who made sure my room stayed clean and warm; occasionally sneaking an interesting book under my pillow. He also provided the kind of light-hearted conversation I wasn’t getting from talking to the young ladies. He was the one person in the whole house I felt I could really talk with. Over the weeks he’d become my confidant.  
“Ms. Peahen is thinking about the future and planning ahead.”  
“And how exactly does marrying me off to one of the multitude of eligible young ladies she’s shoved right in front of me accomplish that? I won’t receive my inheritance until I’m twenty-one; how does that make me a good marriage prospect now?”  
“Well, I shouldn’t be talking out of turn, sir…”  
“Please, Cayn, I value your honesty and candidness, don’t stop now,” I said.  
“The inheritance you just spoke of, that’s from your father, isn’t it?” When I nodded he continued, “But your mother…”  
“What about my mother?”  
He looked up from where he tended the fire, shock and surprise in his eyes. He blinked a few times and hastily backtracked. “N-nothing, sir. Please forget I said anything.”  
“Cayn…”  
“I apologize, sir, for referring to something I have no right of knowing. If you’ll excuse me, I have other duties to attend to.” He was opening the door as I managed to grab his arm, making him pause.  
“I’m sorry, Cayn,” I whispered. He looked at me with surprised eyebrows and barely parted lips.  
“I shouldn’t have tried to pressure you,” I went on, “in trying to get you to tell me something you might have overheard and not fully understand. I don’t want our friendship to end. You’re one of the few people here I feel like I can trust. And I’m in sore need of that right now.” My voice shook near the end as I let my fear creep through.  
Cayn was silent for a moment, and then he squeezed the hand that held onto him. “I’ll not let you down, Quinn. I don’t have any friends here either.” He gave me a small smile then slipped out the door.  
It wasn’t until I was falling asleep that I realized he used my name for the first time.  
  
Chapter 9  
Cayn was true to his word. We spent at least half an hour each night talking and laughing, a fine way for me to relax after a confusing evening being sociable to multiple people I didn’t know and had no reason to.  
It was refreshing to spend time with him; I didn’t feel like I had to pretend to be anything when it was just the two of us spending time together. We even played a few quick games together like cards and checkers (I could never understand chess no matter how hard Father tried to teach me). These bubbles of moments helped to keep me sane during all the social engagements Ms. Peahen took me to.  
Her marital hints were losing their subtlety as I refused to confess a particular leaning to any of girls I’d met. Ms. Peahen’s frustration fed mine and Cayn was kind enough to let me vent my feelings when we were alone.  
“Why not just give her a name, Quinn?” he asked, he stopped calling me ‘sir’ in private a while back. I didn’t mind.  
My hands went from behind my back to through my hair as I continued to pace. “That won’t do any good. It’ll just make things worse, Cayn. The way she is now, if I so much as hint there’s a girl I like, there’ll be wedding bells before next spring.”  
“I’m not saying it has to be one of the ladies she’s introduced you to,” he countered. “Tell her a name of a girl back in London…”  
“That won’t wash either I’m afraid,” I argued. “If there were such a person I doubt she would have been able to take me out of England as quickly as she did. She’d wonder why I hadn’t mentioned it when she first told me of her plan to move me here. Her reasoning being there were no commitments keeping me there.”  
I paused by the bedroom window and leaned my forehead against the glass. “I don’t want to get married right now, Cayn. I don’t know what I want in a wife; there’s no way I’ll be able to tell just by meeting someone for a few hours during some large get-together. And I want to at least be able to like whoever I share the rest of my life with.”  
I chuckled at the reflection of Cayn’s face in the dark glass. “I guess there’s a little bit of a romantic in me, Cayn. Arranged marriages don’t sit well with me.”  
“Now that I think about it, I mean really think about it, I don’t think it sits well with me either.”  
“Thank you, Cayn.”  
“You’re welcome, Quinn.”  
  
Chapter 10  
“Good morning, Ms. Peahen.”  
“Good morning, Quinn, and happy birthday. How does it feel to be one year older?”  
I chuckled, “I don’t feel that different, honestly. To me it’s just a number.” Mentally I did feel a little bit closer to freedom. I was now twenty years old; one more year I would be of age and able to return to England.  
But I didn’t want to upset Ms. Peahen right now; I was in too good a mood. I was well aware that she was already disappointed in me for not picking a wife and was still single after almost three years. Every time it became clear that I wasn’t going to marry a particular girl, M. Peahen would pout and sulk for about a week before pushing me towards another young lady. I’m sure each of them was very nice and would make some man a very lucky husband. Just not me, I didn’t feel any attraction towards any of them. I was polite to all of them but I made it clear that I wasn’t interested in courtship, let alone marriage.  
Each of them tried to press themselves onto me with varying levels of desperation. I couldn’t quite understand their insistence of pursuing me. I wasn’t the only bachelor in town. And every time we met one of Ms. Peahen’s friends, they exclaimed in disbelief that I hadn’t married yet.  
“Why is everyone insisting I get married?” was a question I frequently asked Cayn during our nightly visits. And it was a question I hadn’t found a satisfying answer to. So I just smiled and dodged the marital bullet as best I can. I’d been lucky so far.  
Ms. Peahen set aside the letters and papers she perused while she ate and rested her chin in hands with a conniving smile on her face.  
“What?” I asked with my tea halfway to my lips.  
“What are you talking about?”  
“With all due respect, Ms. Peahen, I’ve lived with you for almost three years now, I think I should know when you’re plotting something. And right now, madam, you are most definitely plotting something. Now what are you plotting?” I set my teacup down and leaned my chin in one hand. “And considering what today is, can I safely assume that it has something to do with my birthday?”  
Ms. Peahen continued smiling at me, almost in a coy manner now. “Well, now that you mention it, I did have a little something planned for this evening.”  
I laughed smugly. “I knew it.”  
“But it’s a surprise, Quinn. I’ll say no more than that.”  
I gave her a funny look that sometimes managed to get her to break down and tell all but apparently this wasn’t going to be one of those times. Even when I narrowed my eyes at her, she continued smiling and staying mum on what was going to happen tonight. I realized I wasn’t going to get anywhere with her on this mysterious subject so I just shrugged and finished my breakfast.  
I returned to my room with nothing else planned for the day; my hope was to delve further into one of my father’s old books I’d brought over from England. Ms. Peahen’s insistence on an active social life hadn’t leave me with as much time to study as I might have wished. But today was mine to spend as I desired when I knew her plans wouldn’t start until after the sundown. And being summer, the days were exceptionally long for which I was very grateful.  
So I was very surprised to enter my room and find Cayn trying to stuff as much of my belongings as he could into a single valise. Judging by how strewn about and messy everything was, Cayn had been at this for quite some time, possibly snuck in once I left for the dining room.  
I stared around in wonder; Cayn didn’t even notice my arrival until I called out to him. His reaction only deepened my concern and worry. I admit I was starting to get scared.  
He jumped enough at the sudden sound of my voice that one foot actually left the ground and one hand leapt to his chest. He stood as a frozen animal peripherally aware of hunters nearby for a moment before recognition flared in his eyes and he began breathing heavily in relief.  
“Oh Quinn, you startled me,” he said as he got his breathing under control. “For a moment I was afraid you were someone else.”  
“Apparently,” I replied, stepping carefully into the room, picking up discarded items from the floor and tossing them onto the bed. “So what’s the big idea, Cayn? What’s going on?”  
A frightened look returned to his eyes as he clasped my hands tightly with his own. “You have to get away from here, Quinn. Today, now. Not tonight nor tomorrow. But today while the sun is still up.”  
“What? Why?”  
“Quinn, do you know what Ms. Peahen is planning for tonight?”  
“No, not really. All I do know is that there’s something she won’t tell me.”  
“Well I do know and it doesn’t bode well for you. And I want to tell you more but I can’t right now. It’ll take too long to explain everything. I ask that you just trust me when I say her plans mean you no good will.”  
I didn’t say anything for a moment. Cayn had been my friend for almost three years now; there wasn’t anyone else in this house I trusted more than him. Especially Ms. Peahen.  
I gave his hands a gentle squeeze and smiled. “All right, But I expect some kind of detailed explanation later. What do you need from me right now?”  


Chapter 11  
I saw relief and joy burn in his eyes. He pointed to the valise on my bed and explained I needed to pack thoroughly but lightly. His plans included us getting as far away from the area as we could before my disappearance was discovered.  
“Us?” I asked, puzzled.  
Cayn smiled and said there was no way he was going to send me out into the wilds of America on my own. He was already packed and had a plan. I quickly realized as I filled the valise that this was something he’d been planning for some time. I was tempted to inquire how long this scheme had been in the works but I was afraid it tied into the reason behind the escape so I refrained.  
I packed only clothes and some essential toiletries. Cayn’s urgency made me regretfully leave all of my books behind. Soon I was packed to both of our satisfaction and he took us downstairs via the servant’s stairs to a door that led out to the garage. The car was ready to go but I didn’t see any sign of the driver.  
I tapped Cayn on the shoulder, “We’re not taking that, are we?” Learning how to drive was not something Ms. Peahen thought I needed.  
Thankfully Cayn shook his head. “It’s too loud and would alert the others to what we’re doing. No, I thought we’d use these.” He removed from behind a cluttered workbench two strange bicycles, they’re wheels were the same size.  
“Where…”  
For the first time since we met I saw Cayn blush. “I know they look strange but they’ll ride true. I’ve tested them both after I repaired them.” He told me how he scavenged the parts from junkyards on his days off and worked on them.  
I was so surprised by his ingenuity and determination to help me that I found myself blushing as well. “How long had you been planning this?” I asked softly. He blushed and shook his head, this wasn’t the time for explanations.  
We each took one of the bicycles and walked them to the main road, cutting through the gardens and avoiding the windows of the house as much as possible. There we had to take things slowly as I got use to riding the contraption. The last time I was on a bicycle was years ago in London when I was persuaded to get on one at a tea party in the country. My ride didn’t last very long, within five minutes I found myself tangled in the shrubbery.  
Cayn was patient as I found the necessary rhythm and balance to cycle successfully. I could see his impatience but he never yelled or was short with me. And for that I was grateful; my tumbles and falls were embarrassing enough. But we did make progress; the afternoon and the countryside were soon flying past us. Because the bicycles weren’t completely reliant on roads, we reached town faster than if we drove. Once within the town’s confines, Cayn took us to the train station where a pair of one-way tickets waited for us.  
Standing on the platform I had a moment of misgiving. For the second time I was being forced to leave the only home I knew for parts unknown ostensibly for my welfare. Yet this felt different. I couldn’t pinpoint why. Either way I joined Cayn onboard when our train pulled into the station.  
  
Chapter 12  
The rest of the summer and flowing into autumn was a great adventure whose memories I would carry for the rest of my life. It was also very educational. Cayn taught me a great deal about living frugally and doing more things for myself.  
Eventually we settled in a small town in northern part of the Texas territory. I taught at the local school and he worked as a clerk at the general store, and we both stayed at the boarding house by the saloon. It was an uncomplicated life. I was surprised when I realized how contented I was with it.  
I never thought I would become a teacher for a small school. Because of my age and general lack of experience, I was assigned to the younger children; making sure they knew their letters and basic math. My employer didn’t think the older children would show me the respect needed to get through the lessons. I liked helping these young children learn to read and write; especially as I had the freedom to use whatever materials I wanted to teach them. I’m sure they went home and asked a lot of unusual and odd questions regarding the material I used in class. So far I hadn’t gotten any complaints or concerns from their parents.  
Cayn seemed to be enjoying his work, his boss quickly learned to rely on him and teach him more about the business. In the evenings we’d sit and talk. After living there for two months he finally explained why it was so urgent that we run when we did.  
Ms. Peahen had arranged to marry me off that night, literally. Everything had been planned weeks before; all she needed to do was deliver me to the church that night. It hadn’t mattered that I hadn’t actually met the bride-to-be, let alone agreed to the match. I still wasn’t quite sure how she was going to pull this off. I thought there were laws in this country that prevented forced marriages.  
But Cayn assured me that she could get away with it. He said it with such conviction that I dropped the argument and buried my doubts.  
The reason behind all this was the inheritance left to me by my mother. Apparently I could only get it once I was married. Ms. Peahen was determined that I get this inheritance before I became old enough to get the inheritance from my father. Unfortunately Cayn couldn’t elaborate on what my mysterious maternal inheritance could be. There were times I wished I could remember my mother better or knew more about her.  
So I cursed my faulty memory and my father’s sealed lips on the subject. Any information might serve as a clue as to why Ms. Peahen was obsessed over my receiving it. As it was, I needed to hide until I was twenty-one and could return to England objection free. At least, that was my plan. Cayn hadn’t elaborated on his other than that we needed to hide.  
  
Chapter 13  
But we were doing well in my opinion. We were in a town of decent size; the people who called this place home were friendly and helpful. Our jobs were enjoyable and we proved very good at them, and our rooms were comfortable.  
Life was good.  
“Winter is strange here,” I said one evening while we played cards.  
Cayn nodded as he shuffled. “We’re use to winter with cold and snow and short days. Here though it’s cold, short days and a lot of rain.”  
I nodded as well, “Although some of the parents did warn me that it can ice over around here. Did we remember to bring some ice cleats? Just in case we need to go out and the roads are frozen?”  
Cayn replied, “Sorry, I didn’t. It never occurred to me that ice and snow would happen this far south.” He shook his head. “I guess I read too many of those awful westerns when I was in Ms. Peahen’s employ.”  
“How did you end up working for her anyway?”  
The cards slipped and scattered from his hands and we spent a minute or so in silence as we gathered them back up.  
“Cayn?”  
“It’s…complicated, Quinn.”  
I held his hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. Eventually my silence weakened Cayn’s resolve; he sighed and did his best to explain. Ms. Peahen knew his parents from somewhere (he refused to specify) and when he needed to start working, they talked Ms. Peahen into accepting him as a member of the household staff. I got the feeling there was more to his story but if he didn’t want to elaborate right now, I wasn’t going to press the issue.  
I was careful about how I treated Cayn. I didn’t want to risk losing him because I said the wrong thing or pushed when I shouldn’t.  
  
Chapter 14  
Winter was giving way to spring when Cayn began acting strangely. He cast anxious glances at everyone in town he didn’t recognize, which was quite a few as a coach station opened up around New Years.  
He rubbed his hands frequently and took to wearing gloves wherever he went like a ranch hand, even inside the boarding house. That was weird and a little worrisome. What really concerned me was his cough. It wasn’t a frequent cough, not like he had a cold anything of that nature. But it was persistent, especially in the evenings.  
On numerous occasions I could hear something wet in the ungodly sound and urged him to see the local doctor. Cayn always refused.  
“There’s nothing to be done about it,” he told me one evening. “I’ve had this cough for years, it’ll go away when the weather stops being so erratic.”  
“Why hadn’t I seen you cough before?”  
He explained there was medicine that would minimize it, but he ran out shortly after we left Massachusetts. “Nor can I risk getting any more now.”  
“Why not? If there’s a medicine that can help…”  
“Because it’s very uniqueness will alert Ms. Peahen and her cadre to where we are.”  
I went back to my room and shut myself away for the rest of the night. I was torn apart. Cayn was suffering to protect me and I was too selfish and scared to have him risk getting better.  
The next evening he cornered me in my room after dinner.  
“Quinn,” he said gently, “whatever turmoil you’re enduring, stop it. I knew this would happen eventually. It was bound to. I’m sorry for not telling you earlier. I was afraid you wouldn’t go through with this if you knew.”  
“But you’re hurting and it’s all my fault.”  
He chuckled and I could see him fight not to let it turn into another coughing fit. “It doesn’t hurt when I cough, Quinn. Honest. The cough annoys me more than anything else. So stop worrying about it. It’s only temporary.”  
I so wanted to believe him that I nodded mutely and hugged him, much to the surprise of both of us. Just as surprising he hugged me back. I never realized it would feel so good to be held by someone else. Such a feeling of peace and contentment, it was beautiful. I held him tighter, I didn’t want to let go.  
I don’t know how long we stood there, holding each other, but it wasn’t long enough.  
When the embrace broke, Cayn’s face was an alarming red; I don’t think mine was any better. Our good nights were awkward and it took me a long time to fall asleep.  
I needed to understand the emotional turbulence I was experiencing but there was no frame of reference I could use to pinpoint what it was. That frightened me more than anything, even than how much I wanted to feel like this though I didn’t know what it was.  
  
Chapter 15  
I woke up the next morning suspecting what this feeling for Cayn was but too scared to name it, even in my head. What if I was wrong? Or worse, I was right but Cayn didn’t feel the same? My thoughts became a maelstrom as I prepared for the day and went downstairs.  
I didn’t see Cayn at all that day and further inquiry revealed the great probability that he hadn’t left his room, much to the distress and worry of our landlady and me. She didn’t need much to persuade me to break into his room to check on him.  
What I found inside curdled my stomach and twisted my heart. A stench of stagnant water and rotting fish which I couldn’t understand pervade the room. I could hear Cayn’s breathing, it rasped and rattled in his chest, almost suffocating. I edged closer to the bed and slammed my hand over my mouth to keep from gasping, I thought he looked thin before but that was nothing compared to how he looked now. He seemed partially mummified, sunken skin and bones on sharp relief. His eyes closed to slits but he gave no sign he knew I was next to him. I don’t know how he became so severely dehydrated with chopped, pulling skin in such a short amount of time.  
I shouted for a cold bath and dragged Cayn from his bed to the bathroom. The water did little to help; it eased some of the chafing but did nothing for the labored breathing or diminished body. Cayn remained unconscious.  
I paced the length of the hallway, I couldn’t stand to watch Cayn in so much pain and not know how to help. The good landlady stayed by his side as we decided I should rush to the general store. I would look for something to help. I wasn’t sure what exactly, but there had to be something.  
Deceitful darkness claimed me after closing the front gate.  
  
Chapter 16  
My next clear, coherent thought was confusion. I lay on a comfortable bed but I could feel restraints on my wrists and ankles. Opening my eyes didn’t improve matters. While it was early evening-dark outside, I still recognized my old bedroom in Ms. Peahen’s house. I bit my lip to keep from cursing. Not only had we been found but they managed to immobilize me long enough to haul me back to Massachusetts.  
I assumed they brought Cayn back as well. I was torn between having him back where he could get the medicine he needed and still being free from whatever machinations he sought to protect me from.  
“You’ve woken up. Inconvenient but we can work with it.” Ms. Peahen came into my field of vision with a small, lit candle in one hand. “It’s good to have you back, Quinn,” she said with a smile. “Although I wish you never left in the first place.”  
She took a seat next to me and set the candle on the night stand. “I don’t know what Cayn told you to convince to leave,” she continued. “And I don’t care. None of that matters. What does matter is that you’re here. Fortunately the window of opportunity hasn’t completely closed.”  
“How’s that fortunate?” I couldn’t resist asking.  
Ms. Peahen looked me in the eye and replied, “Because we still need you alive, boy. Otherwise you’d be dead right now.”  
I swallowed, as much as I wanted to doubt that statement, she did have a very valid point.  
Standing once more, she took the candle in hand. “I still have a few more things to attend to before everything begins. I want to get it done before it’s time to start.”  
“Time for what to start?”  
“Time for you to do what your mother should have prepared you for.”  
I dozed off and on over the course of a few hours after she left, taking the only light with her. During the times I was conscious I kept testing the restraints I was under for some glimmer of escape.  
As futile as my attempts were, I either spent my time doing this or fretting about what might have happened to Cayn. That train of thought threatened to become an emotional whirlwind that would leave me with a massive headache and no answers.  
Unfortunately the straps encircling my wrists and ankles were finely made and fastened tightly. Moonlight was starting to shine through the window when I made a fortuitous discovery. While the straps themselves secured me firmly to the bed, their anchorage to the bed frame did not meet the same level of strength. It took a few good yanks but I was able to free my feet. From there I gained a better position to free my arms. The straps came off easily after that and I snuck into the hallway.  
It was then I realized I had no real plan to rescue Cayn and make out escape. I swallowed a sigh and settled for hiding away from hostile elements until inspiration came. I managed to sneak my way up and promptly got lost in the bowels of the attic. The small lamp I found and lit made the shadows dance and hid depths and niches, prefect for me. I wasn’t sure how long I had until Ms. Peahen and her cohorts discovered I escaped their clutches again. And this time without Cayn’s help.  
Cayn.  
I needed to find him; I needed to know if he was all right. My heart tightened and cursed whatever emotion was doing this to me. And at the same time I didn’t want to lose it or the person who inspired it.  
Clenching my teeth so I hissed, I tried to calm my breathing and sat on a nearby box. My heart skipped a beat in surprise as I broke and fell through the box’s top. It took a few minutes for my dignity and butt to come up from where they’d fallen.  
After standing I paused to listen, could anyone downstairs hear that noise? Or was there enough empty space between them and me for the commotion to go unnoticed. Moments passed and I relaxed. My hiding place was still safe.  
Dusting myself off, something in the box caught my eye. Mother’s handwriting? Ms. Peahen really did know her? I made myself comfortable on the floor in front of the box with a tied bundle of letters addressed to Ms. Peahen in my mother’s handwriting.  
Going through them, coldness spread out from my gut to the rest of my body. Apparently Mother and Ms. Peahen were devoted pen pals; the dates on the letters spoke of regular correspondence. What unnerved me was that the majority of what Mother wrote about was me. She told Ms. Peahen about my development, education, mishaps. Whatever was going on now, this was something years in planning. And my mother had a part in it. Then the letters suddenly stopped almost a week before Mother died. Stranger still was how short that last letter to Ms. Peahen was, a few paragraphs compared to the three to four pages she used to send. In this last letter, Mother pled Ms. Peahen to change the plan; it wasn’t going to work with me. She said everything would be explained the next time they saw each other. And that was it. Nothing else.  
What did Mother have to tell Ms. Peahen that was so urgent? A cursory rummage through the rest of the box’s contents didn’t reveal anything else of interest. I returned the letters and leaned back on my heels. My confusion deepening, I tried to plan my next move. The letters convinced me Ms. Peahen would do whatever she could to complete whatever ritual she was planning but the details were still in the dark. My mood darkened with the growing night, I needed to do something.  
With my meager courage gathered I crept downstairs, sticking to the servant’s stairs to reach the bottom floor. Through the kitchen windows I saw a small bonfire out in the garden, probably part of the night’s festivities.  
“Beautiful, isn’t it? And it’s all for you.”  
I winced and managed not to flinch at the hands alighting onto my shoulders.  
  
Chapter 17  
“Good of you to show up, Quinn. I was so concerned when you disappeared earlier. But you’ve shown up just in time.” Ms. Peahen’s grip tightened and she began steering me towards the dining room where three gentlemen waited. “They’ll get you ready, my boy.” She patted one shoulder. “Then we’ll be ready to begin.”  
It hadn’t taken the men long to strip me down then dress me in some kind of robe that would have been scandalously revealing on a woman. It was white with sleeves coming down to my elbows and the hem just touching the top of my knees. The collar though, it dipped all the way down to my navel. A strong breeze could easily slide this off me and leave me completely exposed to the world just as I had been when I was born.  
An event I was beginning to regret as I was marched to a marble bench serving as some sort of altar. Ms. Peahen stood there with a worrying smile and a pale knife in one hand. The entire ground surrounding her and the bench was clear of all vegetation within about a five foot radius, the dirt smoothed out. The moon hid behind clouds massing in the sky, the only light available were torches held by the gathered congregation.  
The only time I was tempted to break ranks and leg it was when I caught a glimpse of Cayn in the background of the robed figures standing around. He was easy to spot, dressed in his usual clothes with his arms held in a firm grip by two others. He physically looked better than the last time I saw him; but his expression of despair matched my own.  
However we were both guarded and closely watched. No way could I reach him without incurring some kind of trouble and Cayn getting hurt because of it. I swallowed the lump in my throat and continued on.  
When we reached her, Ms. Peahen took my chin in hand and we stared uncomfortably at each other. She seemed satisfied with whatever she saw in my face, dropping my chin and gesturing to my escort to proceed to bind me to the altar.  
She faced the crowd with raised arms and began some prepared speech. Between her and me, a select few of her minions hurriedly scratched out a circle of various symbols in the dirt using sticks. My curiosity was drawn to what was being sketched in the ground so I missed most of what Ms. Peahen said. What I did catch unsettled me.  
I was to be sacrificed to some unknown power or divine horror from another dimension the group’s ancestors had struck a deal with a long time ago. Each of the major families in the group had sacrificed a son to the power. My death was the last one needed to finalize the deal; I was the first born to Mother’s bloodline in generations. The entity would give them immense power and wealth in the mortal realm. The sacrifice would also seal the group’s allegiance to this unfathomable being when it starts conquering our world.  
I swallowed the rising lump in my throat. No matter how funny I thought the whole situation was, these people sincerely believe every single word of it. Laughing at the absurdity of all this would not help things.  
Ms. Peahen’s attention focused on me again, her feet were extremely careful not to smudge the symbols lately drawn. As she leaned over me, I knew I had to at least try.  
“Don’t do this,” I said. “It won’t work.”  
She chuckled and brushed my hair from my brow. “That’s where you’re wrong, boy. As your mother’s son, it will.”  
“But…”  
She pressed a finger against my lips to stop me from speaking. “It’s a shame the bloodline has to end. But the promise must be kept. If only you’d marry and had a child….oh well.”  
Around us her followers began chanting in some language I had no familiarity with. At any rate they were too loud for me to talk over, not that I was sure any of them would listen save Cayn. As they went on, Ms. Peahen slowly carved a series of sigils on my chest and abdomen. Not deep enough to really hurt or impair me but deep enough to bleed profusely.  
Out of my field of vision there was a wet ripping sound then tentacles came into view. They were as thick as my upper arm and colored a dark, rainbow sheen that made them hard to define any further during a clouded night. I thought I would burn from the cold radiating from their skin and gasped as one tentacle decided to start investigating my body.  
Instinctively I started twitching to avoid contact but there were so many of them; too many for me to dodge. I bit my lip and moaned to keep from screaming to an indifferent night. Tears spilled down my eyes in agony. It only got worse when one of them came across the exposed blood. It began twisting and contorting, trying to get as much blood all over itself as possible. Its excitement spread to others who quickly joined in. Soon all the sigils carved into me had at least two tentacles enjoying themselves.  
I guess this was meant to be an appetizer, get them interested in the main course. Ms. Peahen stood above me with the knife clenched in both hands over her head.  
  
Chapter 18  
That was when the screeching began. Everyone cringed at the sound and did their best to cover their ears. The tentacles swung haphazardly, no longer soaking up my blood. When the ground around us started shaking, the panicked look on Ms. Peahen’s face gave me a glimmer of hope. None of this was part of her planned ritual so maybe I could get out of here alive. The tremors were bad enough to knock people off balance, many of them toppled to the ground.  
This is probably how Cayn managed to escape his captors and crawled over to me. His expression of fear, hope, and worry mixed onto his face was a relief for me to see. He kissed my brow, tears edging his eyes. Fumbling fingers freed me and swatted away the protesting tentacles. While I was no longer a primary interest to them, they were still reluctant to let me go.  
“Come with me, this way.” He had to shout right by my ear, I nodded to show I understood. Together we crawled away from the flickering light into warm darkness. At the tree line we managed a loping run. Looking back only once, I was glad we ran.  
Dissatisfied with me, more tentacles emerged from tiny rips of reality and started grabbing Ms. Peahen and her followers. Several poor souls had multiple tentacles latching on. Judging from the screams, the tentacles weren’t inclined to share with each other. Cayn put an arm around my shoulders and steered my view away from the scene; I didn’t resist it.  
I don’t know how long we ended up walking that night. Supporting each other we managed to make it to the shore. I sensed Cayn perk up, he took charge of our direction. Eventually we stumbled onto a dark hamlet that looked recently abandoned. He got us inside a house and laid me out on a table to better inspect my wounds. I despaired at the furrow growing between his eyes.  
“Quinn, your injuries…”  
Whatever he’d been about to ask was lost as a wave of inhuman screams descended on the hamlet. Apparently not everyone had been taken by the other worldly tentacles back in Ms. Peahen’s back garden. We both cursed under our breath as we got to our feet to run again. Although we wanted to rest, the alternative of being captured again by frustratingly mad cultists was the worse option.  
We managed to climb out a window facing a back alleyway then resorted to the stooped-over run again. Glimpses to the main streets confirmed the identities of our hunters; a lot more of them survived the initial assault by the tentacles than I thought. Ms. Peahen led the pack, the bone knife still in one hand. I’d never seen her so angry.  
We dashed, zig-zagged, leap-frogged, and went in circles around to avoid the cultists, all becoming a lethal game of hide and seek. Unfortunately we had two things going against us. One was their fury gave them energy to keep the chase going while my and Cayn’s exhaustion grew. Two they vastly outnumbered us.  
All this meant it was maybe an hour before we were caught and presented to Ms. Peahen at the beach. At her feet a few of the cultists lay whimpering, victims of her displeasure and anger.  
“I don’t know what went wrong,” she said. “But the ritual will be completed.”  
“Ms. Peahen, please. Let me explain…”  
I don’t know which was more effective in shutting me up; the fact Ms. Peahen slapped me across the cheek or the pain it caused. Either way the result was the same, I was struck mute and stared at her as two other cultists grabbed and established a firm grip on my arms. At least Cayn fought back against the ones grabbing him. He froze though when she aimed the knife at his Adam’s apple.  
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you and your continued treachery,” she hissed. Ms. Peahen shook her head without her eyes leaving his. “And after all we’ve done for you; this is how you choose to repay it?”  
He snarled but said nothing else, as he looked at me I sighed. Unless something drastic happened, my life would end soon with Cayn’s death following soon after. Nothing I could say to Ms. Peahen would make her realize the enormous folly sacrificing me would be. I cursed the accident that silenced Mother and silently apologized to Father. I know I promised him before he died but the time to keep that promise had passed as we both knew it would. Why else would he have me memorize the release spell?  
I lowered my head and spoke softly. I didn’t immediately feel any different but there was a collective gasp from everyone else. There was a little bit of heat on my back as the runes flared and died. Then I felt the change. Subtle at first but I knew it was there. Rolling my head around my neck I looked at a surprised Ms. Peahen. Her mouth was agape doing a fine imitation of a fish on dry land.  
“What…what…”  
“I’m sorry but I did warn you.” I whipped my arms around and heard bones shatter as the grips broke. I wasn’t much of a brawler but that wasn’t very important right now considering how strong I was. I added to the initial screams by hitting more cultists and breaking their bones. Several of them valued their immediate safety over whatever Ms. Peahen’s threats and fled. For herself, Ms. Peahen continued her fish impression while backing into the surf. When she was alone with me and Cayn, I stood straight and looked pityingly at her.  
“It’s over,” I said.  
Cayn slowly moved towards her either to restrain her or provide some kind of comfort, I don’t know which. She took a third option, wrapping her arm around his neck and pinning him in front of her like a shield, the tip of her knife pressed against his neck.  
“I don’t know what’s happening…” She choked on whatever else she had to say; getting punched in the neck will do that to you. I think I might have crushed her larynx with that move, I’m not quite sure. The desired effect was there, she released Cayn and dropped the knife to wrap her hands around her swelling throat.  
I was confused why she didn’t try running for the shore; I no longer saw her as a threat and wouldn’t have caused her further harm. Instead she rushed into the water, ripping at her clothes along the way. I started to shout after her but Cayn gently pressed a hand against my chest and shook his head. I was still confused but didn’t do anything.  
Silently we watched her go under the waves and not resurface.  
  
Chapter 19  
Despite what I initially feared, the house wasn’t wrecked too badly by the tentacle attack, and there was no sign of them anywhere now. Cayn and I found shelter from the dawn’s light and the rising heat as well as enough salvaged supplies to dress properly and tend to our injuries. Focusing on the mundane little things prolonged the inevitable awkward conversation. As I expected Cayn started it.  
“A lot happened last night,” he said. I choked back a retort; I wanted him to broach the subject in his own way. “I can explain part of it to you, if you want. But I think I’m owed some explanation in return.” He gestured towards my chest. “The sigils she carved into you last night are almost gone now. And your back flared up like a candle. What…”  
I shook my head. “I will explain but you go first.”  
He swallowed the rest of his words then nodded. A lot of what he said next matched what Ms. Peahen said before the ritual began. My sacrifice was the last one needed to seal and complete the deal made two centuries ago. All the other bloodlines involved had paid their debts, Mother’s was the last. Cayn sat down and gestured to me.  
“So can you explain to me what’s going on with you and why the ritual failed?”  
“Fair enough. I’m glad you’re seated by the way.” I got comfortable myself; this was going to be hard for him to believe. “The truth is she wasn’t my real mother.”  
“But didn’t she have a baby?”  
“Yes, a still born. And the birth was difficult enough to keep her from getting pregnant again. Now according to Father she really wanted to have a child. He called it a desperate longing. He didn’t want her to get depressed with the loss of the baby and never having children of her own so he turned to the dark arts.”  
Cayn’s expression made me laugh; it felt good to do that now.  
“Really” I continued. “Father specialized in esoteric knowledge and supposedly debunked sciences. He cobbled together a few spells and created me. A homunculus based on him. He’d do a ritual every few years to make it look like I aged; he worked very hard to make me as human as possible. He even had me under a binding spell that restricted my strength to make it easier for me to blend in with other people. The light you saw on my back was me removing that spell.” I leaned back against the wall. “I don’t know how Mother found out though. She mentioned something in her last letter to Ms. Peahen about how their plans weren’t going to work. But Father was always careful to age me when she wasn’t around.”  
Cayn looked at me moment more before shaking his head. I heard a soft sound and realized he was laughing.  
“So,” he said after getting his breath back to normal, “what do we do now?”

+

Rain again. The sounds of the drops hitting the rook provided a staccato beat that was actually soothing. But right now it’s also annoying as I canvased the attic, pinpointing leaks we’d need to fix after the current storms passed. Hopefully it won’t affect the rest of the renovations.  
As nice and cozy as sharing the dining room with Cayn is, it’d be nice to have more room. The current plan was to have everything ready and the inn open before autumn came to Seattle. We already have some reservations.  
Leaving the East Coast altogether was a good idea, there wasn’t anything keep either of us there. We worked out way out west and planned what to do when we finally settled down together. Had to be someplace along the coast or reasonably close to a large body of water. Turned out Cayn’s ancestry is as dubious as my own; being of mixed heritage he needed moisture to help stay healthy.  
This life wouldn’t be perfect, but it would be ours.

The End  
  
Author’s Note  
I started this one during NaNoWriMo, National Novelist’s Writing Month, of 2016; aspiring writers start a new project at the beginning of the month and try to meet a word count by the end of the month. I didn’t meet the word count but I liked what I had and decided I needed to finish it.  
It didn’t finish quite the way I started but I understand that’s typical for a lot of writers. Especially since I really didn’t have an end in mind when I first started, I was just going off a weird dream I had one night that stuck with me.


End file.
